AN: Yes, I'm still working on my Walking Dead fic, but it decided to be stubborn and Happy started taking over my brain. This is rated M, because it's a SOA/Happy fic, and I'm me. I'm setting this in an AU of Season 1, with Happy already going Nomad.

Josie clapped her chalk-covered hands together, focusing on her breathing and shaking out her arms and legs as the thin, white cloud dissipated. For the next hour, she would be surrounded by the musky smell of old and new sweat, grey mats, and the grunts of her classmates. Later, after an afternoon nap and some errands, she would spend the evening running plates to and from tables in a small diner.

The barbell resting on the floor at her feet was 125 pounds of pain just waiting to happen. While discomfort was bothersome, it wasn't something that she couldn't handle, and the men and women surrounding her had become a family when her own lay fractured and incomplete. Shaking off thoughts of family members who had passed away along with the remembered smell of frying hamburger patties and spilled milkshakes, Josie forced herself to live in the moment and be completely present for what was always one of the highlights of her week.

"Alright, everybody, find your focus!" Kate, the instructor for their Crossfit group, paced along the front of the open garage bay-style doors. "Most of you have upped your weights today, so go for completion and not for time."

White Zombie's "More Human Than Human" blared through the speakers mounted in the corners of the ceiling as the timer counted down and her hands firmly wrapped around the metal bar. It was time to do work.

O:O:O:O:O:O:O:

Lockeford, California, had been a quiet, charming place when her parents had realized a shared dream of owning a family vineyard after putting Josie's older brothers through college and selling their plantation home in Georgia. With very little crime, the picturesque, historic town on the edge of wine country remained just as appealing to visitors and residents alike. This time of year, the hot summer days were filled with tourists passing through as inhabitants went about their lives while the nights were balmy and filled with the sounds of crickets and the music of an occasional garage or bar band.

Many of the locals raised a hand in greeting as Josie rumbled through its quaint downtown on her way to the diner situated just off the highway between Lockeford and Lodi. The skirt of her uniform was tucked under her thighs, though she wore a pair of tight running shorts under the lace trimmed underskirt to guard against both flashing her panties and the warmth of black leather in the summer sun. The Harley Softail Slim had been a present to herself after selling the vineyard following her parents' deaths, and Josie refused to ride anything else unless absolutely necessary.

Sally's was a throwback to the 1950s, drawing the eye of passing motorists with its bright red and chrome siding and screaming neon sign. Open all day, every day, it catered to loggers in the morning, tourists desiring a uniquely Americana lunch or dinner experience, and college kids needing a place to drink coffee and study all night. Families came in for lunch or after work suppers, while older couples were known to stop in for a shared milkshake and a plate of fries. Josie's homemade pies were a point of personal pride for her, and a big hit with the customers. The daily specials did not change from week to week during the seasons, and were posted on a large board over the long, enamel topped counter.

Her reverse saddle shoes squeaked just a bit on the red and white checkered floor, and Josie took a moment to tie her apron around her trim waist and adjust the nametag over her left breast. The deep green of her uniform complimented her thick strawberry blonde braid well and made her nearly aqua eyes even more stunning. Looking around, she assessed the three tables of regulars with a smile and went to talk to Debbie, the older lady who worked the lunch to early evening shift.

"Hello, Debbie, how's it going?"

Debbie rubbed at her lower back through her pink dress and sniffed with the air of a career waitress. "Not bad. Couple kids throwing straws earlier."

"Well, if that's the worst you've had, and tips are okay, you're doin' good."

"Don't I know it." Jerking her chin toward the counter, Debbie indicated the cylindrical container in which they made iced tea. "Gonna need to make tea soon. That's been sitting since morning, and you know how stale tea tastes."

"Alright, I'll get on that before anyone else comes in. Finishing your tables before you take off to see that ornery husband of yours?"

"That's the plan." Winking, she hurried to bring a table with a fussing baby a tiny bowl of ice cream.

Josie had just finished stirring sugar and ice into the deep brown tea when a black Harley roared onto the lot. Knowing that Debbie was itching to head home, Josie checked to make sure her ordering pad and some pens were in the right pocket of her white apron before moving around the wait station and into the open dining room. The man sliding into the booth along the wall between the entrance and fire exit nearly had her tripping over her own feet.

He was bald, his caramel skin a bit worn and weathered from being exposed to the sun so consistently. Deep brown eyes looked nearly black from where he sat, and they tracked her knowingly as she recovered and moved over the polished floor. The smirk on his almost cruel lips nearly distracted her enough that the tattoo of a snake slithering over the crown of his head took her by surprise.

"Hi!" Where nerve failed her, the manners drilled into her during her Southern childhood rallied. "Welcome to Sally's. How are you this evening?"

Dark eyes flicked over her, and she felt as if the curve of her breasts and the dip and swell of her waist had just been examined and cataloged. "Fine."

"Can I start you off with something to drink while you decide?"

"Coffee." Before she could open her mouth to ask about cream, he grinned slightly. "Black."

"Be right back with that, hun." Spinning on her heel, Josie enjoyed the way the full skirt flared out around her thighs.

Debbie was hovering behind the half wall of the wait station, worried eyes darting between the new customer and the younger woman. "You okay?"

"Please, I'll be fine!" Flipping a heavy mug upright on a small saucer, Josie grabbed the half full carafe to fill the cup as she spoke. "You go on home and enjoy your weekend."

"You sure?"

Snorting, Josie rolled her eyes at the concern. "I'm 23, not 13. Mikey and Big John are in the kitchen. I'll be fine."

Nodding, though the downturned corners of her mouth nearly screamed her disagreement, Debbie pulled her purse over her shoulder and followed Josie back onto the floor. "Well, call if you need me for anything."

Smiling, Josie wished her a happy anniversary before placing the saucer and steaming mug down on the table. "Have you decided what you would like?"

"Double cheeseburger platter with everything. Extra fries."

The rough timbre of his voice was somehow soothing and arousing all at once, and Josie felt something low in her abdomen quiver in response. Forcing a smile, she nodded and headed to the small window that opened into the kitchen. After placing the order, she made a new pot of coffee and began rolling silverware while she waited, angling herself to keep an eye on the mostly empty room.

After delivering his meal to the table (Josie noticed some more ink peeking out from under the cuffs of his thermal shirt), the man was mostly silent. He would nod when asked if everything tasted okay or if he wanted more coffee. Josie could only wish her other table was as easy.

Just as she put the man's plate down, a group of six young men had entered. Taking up one of the big booths across the room from the lone biker, they had begun a familiar routine. Asking for extras and substitutions that they would then claim to be wrong in order to force the waitress to run between them and the kitchen or wait station. Josie knew from years of experience that this would result in little to no tip and could impact tips from any other tables as the loud group took up more of her time than necessary.

Taking a moment to refill the tattooed man's cup, Josie couldn't suppress a sigh when the others began calling for her loudly.

Thick, strong fingers wrapped around her wrist before she could leave the table. "You okay?"

A thrill tingled down her spine as his work roughened fingers rubbed against the delicate skin at the inside of her wrist.

"Yeah," a small grin stole across her lips for his obviously uneasy concern. "As long as they don't get too crude or start grabbing me, I'm fine."

When he simply nodded and let go, Josie hurried to see what the other group thought they needed. Replacing the carafe on the warmer, she stepped lightly over to the crowded table, noticing that there was trash and ketchup littering its surface. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, I'm sure we could come up with a few things, darlin'." One of the boys, apparently the leader of the group, leered at her from his seat at the edge of the table. His hair reminded her of Justin Bieber, and she fought back a derisive giggle at his feeble attempts at picking her up.

"As long as it has to do with you dining here, then sure. Otherwise, I'm not interested."

"Ah, now, don't be like that." Reaching forward, his fingers just barely skimmed over her side.

"Hey, ASSHOLE!" The shout was a gunshot echoing through the diner, and Josie flinched along with the boys in front of her. The biker had moved silently across the floor, and was standing just behind her right shoulder. "Time for you dickweeds to pay up and go."

One glance into the now truly black eyes of the aggressive man in leather had the boys scrambling to get out of the booth. Unfortunately for them, the only way out was past him. Gripping the leader by the back of the neck, he held his hand out to a still motionless Josie.

"Check."

Pulling it from her order book with shaking fingers, she placed it in his open palm.

"$42.78, so $10 each."

One of the boys made a whining noise from his spot at the back of the booth. "But that's nowhere near-"

His protests slowly died as the older man stared him down. "$10 each to cover the bullshit you've been pulling. And don't let me see you in here again."

When a stack of bills was neatly placed on the table, and the worst of the mess cleaned up, the biker let go of the kid and stood silently as the group fled the restaurant. Smirking to himself, he went back to his table and now cold coffee. When a steaming cup of coffee was placed quietly down in front of him, he followed the arm holding it up to the pretty face of the young waitress.

"Why did you do that?" Josie couldn't fight the shy smile that tipped the corners of her lips up. "I could've handled it."

"Said you were fine unless they touched you."

Understanding the logic, Josie grinned openly. "Well, that earns you a free slice of pie. Any flavor."

"Got apple?"

Josie smiled and plated it up quickly. Setting it down in front of the man, Josie put her hand out to him. "I'm Josephine, but my friends call me Josie or Josie May."

Nodding slightly and letting his head roll back a bit on his shoulders, the man gripped her hand firmly. "Happy."

Happy POV

Happy had spent the day helping Tig and Chibs inspect a few different gun warehouses in the countryside surrounding Charming. The Mexican women they paid to assemble their guns were doing their jobs well and without complaint for the sparse living conditions, and the men had been satisfied enough to finish by mid-evening. While Tig and Chibs had things to take care of for the mother charter, Happy was free to spend the rest of his day how he saw fit.

The open country road with no destination in mind was just what he needed after the last few days of controlled riding and tight deadlines. The warm summer wind in his face smelled of lush greenery and wild flowers, and his empty stomach made itself known just as a large neon sign came into view along the winding road. There were a few cars and one bike parked toward the rear of Sally's restaurant as he pulled into the lot.

The girl who came up to his table was young, but didn't hold herself like jailbait. She had a quiet voice with some sort of southern accent, and she looked him in the eye when she spoke to him. Most bitches didn't do that, preferring to look in his general direction or even at his shoulder or chest while they flirted or simpered. That was more about the cut on his shoulders than him as a person, anyway, and Happy was content to let the club whores do their jobs with or without eye contact.

This wasn't a bitch or a whore though. This was a girl who was working for her money, and who was treating him no better or worse than anyone else. He liked that.

The older woman making a comment about calling her drew his attention, and he smirked as he realized she didn't trust him alone with her pretty friend.

His dinner was barely on the table when two cars pulled into the lot and a loud group of boys trundled into a booth across the room from his quiet table. He could tell from their tipped heads and smart assed grins that they were going to cause trouble for the tiny girl with the blue-green eyes.

When they started attempting to flirt with her, and she rebuffed their offers, Happy grinned to himself. Girl like that needs a man, not some pissant piece of shit.

The skin of the girl's freckled wrist was thin and smooth under his hand when he wrapped his fingers around the delicate bones there. He could feel her pulse there, strong and steady against him, and felt oddly pleased that it wasn't racing in fright. He was at once pleased and annoyed when she told him that she was "fine", though she did give him an opening should the brats across the restaurant get any worse.

When the blond asshole reached out to touch the girl's waist, Happy saw red. If anyone got to touch her, it wasn't going to be some rich little bastard who didn't deserve to even look at her. Putting as much menace as possible into his voice and stance, he soon had the boys quelled and shaking before him.

As they were retrieving payment for their meals, as well as for the bullshit they had put the girl through, Happy shook the one in his grip sharply. "Clean this shit up. This girl ain't your maid."

After they had left, the girl gave him a fresh cup of coffee. When she asked for his reason, Happy's mind suddenly went blank. He wasn't sure exactly why he had been so angry, only that he didn't want them touching her.

When she smiled and introduced herself, Happy shook her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for a woman, though her palms were rough and callused. The buttery soft back of her hand was pale and lightly freckled. He liked the combination more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.